


Tradition

by narutomaki



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Lore - Freeform, and im gonna continue to write what i want when i want, didn't edit this one so sorry lmfao oh no, fake naruto lore, minor death mentions?, shikakuweek2020, who here has finished naruto? not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narutomaki/pseuds/narutomaki
Summary: This fic is packed with fake Naruto lore to make up for how boring my art for the same prompt was, see it over on my tumblr narutomaki!Shikaku week 2020! Tradition!
Kudos: 2





	Tradition

“Do you remember the story I told you last night?” Shikaku asked his son as the natural light dimmed outside and he turned on the oil lamp at his son's door.

Shikamaru shakes his head, but then seems to change his mind and nods as words rise summoned somehow back into his mind; floating through his thoughts like loose strings patching a tapestry back together.

“Good, “ Shikaku said to his son's baffled expression, “that is how it's supposed to work.”

He just nods, then nods again and his father helps him sink back into his futon, a pillow cool beneath his head and the blanket warm across his shoulders as his father starts to speak;

“Once upon a time there was a person, average in looks and power and thoughts. Each night before they laid themselves to rest they prayed.”

“What did they pray for?” Shikamaru immediately interrupted, it was more fun this way- to try and throw his father off his rhythm.

“The normal things, the average things.” He answered smoothly, his voice deep and soft in story mode. “They prayed for their animals to be healthy, and for their crops to make it through the season clean and strong. Each and every night they prayed for this, head against the floor with only a single time stick as light. Average; counting each prayer and hymn.”

“But then it changed?” The boy asked smartly, knowing a story went nowhere without a change.

Shikaku nodded, “Yes, it did. One day, a person of great power came across their land and offered them the chance to be as strong and as powerful as they were.”

“What did they do?”

“The farmer turned them down, saying that the life they led was comfortable and safe; the gods kept their animals' health, and the gods kept their fields strong, and the gods-” Shikaku paused for effect. “Most importantly of all the gods kept their loved ones' souls' safe so that they could one day reunite with them.”

“What did the visitor say?”

“As is the way of any person with such power, they were angry. So angry they ranted and raved and burned many of the farmers' crops. But,” Shikaku smiled. “Then something happened.”

“Something amazing?” Shikamaru asked hopefully.

“Something divine.”

“Tell me!” He would have jumped up to sit in his head had his father not levelled a cautionary stare at his twisting hands.

“From the moon, a goddess came and devoured the visitor whole. In one bite.” Shikaku paused for a second. “She healed their crops with a twist of her wrist and promised them retribution. But the farmer didn't want retribution, so the goddess relented, and asked; then what can I give you? You have been loyal for so many years. Each night you pray and thank me for your life, you thank me for your animals' health and your crop strength. and most importantly, you thank me for keeping your loved ones' souls bound and safe. For you to return to one day; so that in the next life you may once again kiss your child's forehead, a child who won't die in the cradle. So that in the next life you can hold your lovers' hand, and promise them forever again. So I ask of you, humble farmer, what do you want?”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing, for a long while. They sat in silence and pondered, and the goddess waited; for even if they had taken another decade to answer, it would have passed her by in the blink of her eyes. But as all silences must be broken, they eventually answered her. They said;” he took on a different voice, rumbly and modest in speech. “I would like a son, powerful as that man, so that we may tame the molten beast; and prove we love it.”

“Why would they want to love it?”

“All things must be loved.” He answered simply. “So the goddess granted the farmers wish; the next morning a powerful young man came knocking at their door, asking for refuge from the coming rain. And that same night he asked for their family name; as this young man had never felt such warmth and kindness as he did in the farmers' small home.”

“She gave them a family again.”

“Indeed she did. Over time the son grew up to be stronger and stronger;” he continued. “Hard days in the field and long mornings tending to the animals building his mind and body up in ways being on the run could not. Each night he would sit by the candle with his parent, and pray. Giving thanks for their bounty and asking for it to remain. Seasons came and went, and the son grew up, and the farmer grew old. And then older still, until they could not help their son in the fields and could not brush the working cows free of dirt; it all fell now to the son.”

“That's a lot of work.” Shikamaru needlessly observed.

“It was, it had grown to be work for two; so he sold the cows, and shrank their fields. And each night helped the farmer pray, guiding their stiff joints and bones through the motions. Helping their mind remember the words. He cared for his farmer, and the farmer cared for him”

“Wow.” Shikamaru said, eyes drooping with the rhythm of his father's voice.

“Indeed. One day, as all humans do, the farmer died. and their son wept and wept; holding their parents' body tight even as the cold set in and the night drew out. And he opened the scroll they had left him, and read their final wishes. He would tame the beast, and he would have his sons when he found a wife.”

“Was he still young?” Shikamaru asked in disbelief. 

“Of a sort,” His father said after he thought for a moment. “He was not too old yet, at least, to finally set on his own path. When he approached the dark beast, he watched the galaxy in the expanse of its limbs. Watched how the stars bent and glistened as it opened it's mouth to eat him.”

“What?” Shikamaru asked, voice breaking through his sleepiness and panicked alarm for the long-dead man.

“And he broke the beast into 9.” He said, an amused glint dancing in his eyes at his son's enthusiasm. “He pitched his hands hard against its teeth and pushed; with all the mighty strength of a farmer's son, and the beast fell easily apart under his power. Its teeth clattering against the rock and dirt to form 9 little children for him to love and tend, just as the farmer had done for him. At morning he danced with them on their tiny legs, and at night he taught them of their grandmother, who had birthed the beast that bore them; and he taught them of his father, and the love humanity still had to offer, and he took them to his wife- and his sons grew up with them in their hands. And- most importantly- he loved them all.”

“...but?” Shikamaru asked hesitantly.

“One day he would die,” He said plainly, indicating the story was almost over. “He knew this, and he knew it was coming soon. His heart waking him in the night. He would gasp for breath and hold his wife and weep; not wanting to leave his legacy behind just yet. But he was just a man; no matter how strong. So he gifted his sons his eyes, and the 9 beasts he had loved and raised scattered to the winds to grow up; and grow their power. And that's where we leave off, the farmers' tale is done; for the son did not teach his sons- and the beasts forgot the farmer that they never knew. And as they forgot him they forgot humanity's love for them as we turned against their power.”

Shikamaru twisted his face into a sad frown. “...where are they now?”

“The 9 are still scattered to the wind, or imprisoned in the humans who forgot to love them as they should.” He answered, story voice back for the moment. “The sons had sons and daughters, and those daughters and sons had sons and daughters; and their father became a sage.”

His son drew out the silence, shooting his eyes to his father's face in his young unsubtle way of asking to be asked a question.

“Yes, Shikamaru?” Shikaku urged.

“Why don't the other kids know this story?” He asked.

Shikaku tilted his head slowly from side to side as he formulated his response; “That is... a hard question to answer. It's difficult to remember, although it seems easy. In the shadow of night, the moon goddess detangles the stories threads so that we forget.”

“Then how do you remember, dad?” 

“Like the deer that protect us we protect this story, it exists in the shadows just as we do. It's a bright beam of light cutting through our minds, and reminding us of all those we have to thank for our world today.” He explained, glad his son would busy himself with the puzzle of metaphor rather than press for specifics of power.

“But...” Shikamaru trailed off, sparse young eyebrows drawn down.

“Yes?” He urged.

“The story, it's sad. the beasts are all alone now!” He whined, just young enough his petulant whine was not chastised.

“Yes, I suppose they are,” Shikaku said, knowing reassurance would be unwelcome, his son already enjoying the over analyzation of hard truth.

“...” He sulked, slipping his head deeper into his pillow.

After a long pause, Shikaku reached and took one of his sons' hands in his, “Shikamaru?”

“Yes, dad?” He asked, uncertain of the shift in tone.

“Naruto is a good kid, okay?” 

“If you say so...” 

“He's lonely.” Shikaku pressed, holding his son's hand in a squeeze for a second before he leaned back and sighed. “Humanity forgot the love we are supposed to give each other, and so he acts out in the hopes someone will remember he deserves love too.”

“Because everyone deserves love?” The boy said with a downward curl to his mouth, unsatisfied that his bedtime story was being practically applied.

“Yes, Shikamaru. Everyone does,” Shikaku insisted. “Even monsters that stretch the galaxy across their own skin and then try to devour it whole.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice still skeptical.

“Of course I am, Shikamaru.” His father reassured, gentle. “We remembered it's power because we exist in the shadows it created, and we hold it's story for the same reason. One day I'll teach you how to remember it even after you wake up to the sunrise.”

“You will!?” He said, sleepy excitement wiggling up from his stomach.

“Of course!” Shikaku said with a soft laugh, brushing stray hairs from Shikamaru's forehead before standing to leave. “Sleep well, my son.”

The young boy paused to yawn, “Sleep well, dad.”


End file.
